


Cacophonous

by concretebrush



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Musings of a sociopath/psychopath/whatever the hell Hannibal Lecter is, hannibal centric, okay so maybe this is sociopathic love, pretty much non-romantic, this isn't love, will gets thought about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concretebrush/pseuds/concretebrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Shiizakana.</p><p>If this were a symphony, he thinks, then he’d be composer to an assortment of careless musicians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cacophonous

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd.

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_I collect church collapses._

(and you are a beautiful disintegration)

 

 

 

He swirls his glass of Chateau Margot in front of the soft fire. It reminds him of blood rushing down a drain. A whorl in the middle, flared out at the edges.

This is a quiet moment in his increasingly busy schedule. Reflection is good for the mind, he always tells his patients. And right now, behind his closed eyelids, he is watching his carefully constructed play spin slowly apart. If this were a symphony, he thinks, then he’d be composer to an assortment of careless musicians. They drop an eighth note there, add an accidental sixteenth note there, and although each slip is almost unnoticeable by itself, step outside that instant, and the overall piece becomes a discordant jumble.

 

 

 

_I’m curious what would happen if your patients started comparing notes, Dr. Lecter._

  
  


 

 

The first time he sees Will, it’s love at first sight. Well, he’s unable to feel love, so it’s more like intense fascination at first sight.

He thinks it’s the man’s face. There’s something jagged in there. Jagged and unwanted, there’s a look like that of an addict’s self-loathing when he realizes he will always crave the needle. There’s blood hiding just around the corner of this broken consultant’s eyes, and it tugs a smile out of Hannibal. He knows a kindred soul when he sees one.

This is a man who has gazed into the abyss and found it gazing back. This is a man who did not like what he saw. But Hannibal knows, if you gaze long enough, the abyss doesn’t just gaze back, it _becomes_ you.

Give him a little time with this man, with this Will, and see if Hannibal can’t fix him.

Hannibal smiles again, this time, the corners lifts in glee.

Here is finally someone who he can hunt with.

Yes, Hannibal has reveled in his secret. After all, the obliviousness of the people tasked with unveiling the truth has always brought him some dark amusement, but the burden is heavy. And sometimes he thinks a partner would make things more interesting. Someone to talk with, to discuss with, to dissect with.

He had at one point, hoped it would be Abigail. The girl was young and malleable and as unformed a talent as Mozart must have been in his youth. But as that particular plot had played out, Hannibal had marked his watershed by choosing Will.

It always came back to Will.

 

 

 

_A therapist’s life is equal parts counsel and curiosity. We set a patient on a path, but are left to wonder where that path will take them._

  
  


 

 

He doesn’t tell Will the whole truth. Although killing must feel good to God too, God doesn’t just kill, he shapes, he molds. He takes a clump of earth, and creates a man out of it, and out of a rib, a woman. He takes a person, breathing, thinking, feeling, and changes him. These are moments of church collapses. It isn’t just the church collapsing and killing 65 grandmothers, it is the little seed of doubt planted in that passerby. In the witness. In the sometimes religious businesswoman watching the morning news. It is the slightly darker shade they see the world in, when they wake the next morning.

Changing men; that is playing God. More so, perhaps than killing. Because what man cannot kill?

 

 

 

_I think about God._

 

 

 

Before his incarceration, Will was a demolition site. His heart spilled out from under his skin. His sanity hanging from the end of a lighted metronome. The abyss had only eaten through a few cracks in his armor. It had stagnated. Will had a steely strength of mind that Hannibal could only admire, though hamper his plans it did.

But Hannibal knew how to fan sparks to fire. To cultivate a garden from a seed. When Hannibal came along, he only changed the water.

The abyss began to grow again.

And Will was eaten by the dark. Changed. Fell too far into the little fissures of his humanity to ever crawl back out, whole.

 

 

 

_Cracks are not always weaknesses. A life lived accrues in the cracks._

  
  


 

 

And although this symphony is changing, gaining a life on its own, he still hears a sepulchral cello in the background. This is the instrument he has refined. It is playing at the right tempo, but now the notes are just occasionally sharp.

He leans back into his armchair. Enjoys the dissonance. The music may not be perfect, but what truly powerful God takes away free will?

What would be interesting then?

 

 

 

_Wind him up and watch him go._

_If you can’t beat God, become him._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I loved the line "I collect church collapses." And that's pretty much where this drabble-type thing came from. Also, I wanted to explore Hannibal's current mental situation. His carefully orchestrated plan is crumbling around him. What's he going to do? Damage control? Keep watching because he's curious and breaking Will is too much fun?


End file.
